


Lifetime

by HauntingOpal



Category: Original Work
Genre: Christianity, God - Freeform, Immortality, One Shot Practice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:55:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22742095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HauntingOpal/pseuds/HauntingOpal
Summary: All is God’s Will, my Father says.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 1





	Lifetime

**Author's Note:**

> Practice

In the beginning of my lifetime, I was a child. While that may seem to be an obvious observation to some, it wasn’t. Atleast, not to me. Not anymore and not in the many lifetimes since. I had remained unchanged, un-aging, in the centuries since my birth. I was set to wander alone, between worlds, dancing on the fine line between life and death, never to meet my God. _All is God’s Will_ , my Father says. 

Contrary to popular lore of immortals, however, I did not need blood to sustain me. I am no vampire. No plant such as garlic nor a heedless need to count, no aversion to sunlight. I found I had no such weaknesses. I felt no need to howl at the moon or eat raw meat, blood stained claws reaching for more _more **more**_. No. One day, I was a plain human girl, born to two plain Christian parents, fourth child of 5, but the last remaining. I had survived against all odds. I had lived long enough to watch the family line die off with me. 

I did not enter this world alone, for all that I am solitary now. I had a twin. Willam and I were different in many ways, our look as similar as it was not, and our personalities like cats and dogs. Willam was born first, with a squelch of blood and a horrid wale, from God’s hands into our Mother’s. I came moments later, but as my Mother tells it, I do not scream. I do not whimper. I am as quiet as Death, she says. Perhaps our births dictate our lives, we end at the beginning. Perhaps not.

I do know, though, that Willam left this life wailing just as loud as he had entered, but there was much more blood.

_Esme_ , my father would say, whiskey brown eyes intent upon me, _You’ll make it far, much farther than your mother and I, Remember us._ I thought it an odd thing to say to a child, especially since most children outlived their parents, logically. But my father was an intelligent man, so I listened. I’d close my eyes every time he’d say it, etching their images to the backs of my eyelids, forcing color and texture to memory. I would remember, I’d promise back, watching his sad smile. It’s a promise I’ve kept.

I do not know if my father knew of my affliction when he was alive, but I oft would wander in my later years if he had, or even caused my immortality. An avid Christian man, his pledge was to his Lord, and witchcraft was a sin, temptation from the Devil. Perhaps he prayed to God for at least one of his children to survive, and this was the way God answered. A private joke only God and I can laugh at. At Least God was not alone. 

Humans are selfish creatures, intent to destroy to create, stripping our world of its vibrance for personal gain. In my lifetimes, the world has changed enormously. I have watched the birth of nations, and the end, from cars to computers, women in corsets to women protesting bras, Love wins and Love loses. It is all small in the long run. History has no meaning, to lessons, if there is no one to remember the past. No one, except me, I suppose. 

Hatred is fuel, and by the end of the Third World War, hardly anything is left. 

The year is 2067, and the joy of the future is long gone. I sit, resting on the edge of a 50 story ledge, and the ground feels miles below. There are clouds of smoke in the distance, but around me it is quiet, still. I slump, and I feel my age. 


End file.
